Evening

He stood, once again, beside the bedroom window, preparing himself. He’d spent years attempting to grasp his emotional range, to find that golden, illusive, emotional intelligence that everyone seemed to talk about. At this second, instead of finding anything, he simply wished to feel something. Anything. Even a spark. Even a remote change that permitted some type of passion to fire within him. However, he knew why he was here and the rest would become history.

He sipped a little vodka and lime from the glass, removing any edge that sometimes seemed to find its way into his system. Ideally, he didn’t need it, but preferred to take part in the same ritual each and every single time. His thing. His moment. His choices and above all, choices contained consequences. Thoughts turned into feelings and feelings into... whatever they became.

He looked at the glass, its neutral texture, wishing that life would somehow contain something more. It did, but the more was not the more that he actually desired. He would contest that life knew what it was doing. He would argue that his life was actually a fruitful life, but life would always become the life we decided it to be. No drama, no excuses, no deferred blame for all of his choices. He was here for a reason and that reason was to simply, evocatively, please. He’d tried to be the good guy, as well as the womanizer. He’d tried being honest and sincere, but those contradictions lead to near destruction. Fate, decisions and action, brought him to this very present path.

He moved the glass, swirling the content, preparing himself for the next few hours. He felt nothing. Numb. Vacant. An autonomous spectre that simply longed for some form of connection. He’d smile, but he was preparing his mood. Enabling the mask. Clearing his mind for the other side of him to appear.

He blinked a few times, placing the glass down onto the windowsill, finally ready to entertain, to do what he was paid to do. The presentation, the act, the performance, all a lie and as vacuous as space itself. He could be anything, as long as he did not care and that fact, was a dramatically endured shame.

He walked across the hotel room, opening the two large bedroom doors, taking in the view and spectacle in front of him. She was obviously attractive, intelligent, the kind of woman that didn’t require or sensibly need his attention or service. However, times changed many a person’s outlook on how things should be done.

She smiled an expectant smile. Knowing. Ready. Mentally and physically, unified after a day of teasing, temptation, thoroughly veraciously insatiable conversations and more. It was one thing to turn a woman on, but it was another to bring her mind and thoughts fully into the arena.

She sat calmly, on the edge of the bed, thoroughly entranced by the actions of the day. He was, in all aspects, a gentleman. It sounded odd to her, using that word, but it was true. The way he moved, the way he talked and did the simple, easy things that most men seemed to ignore or just plainly forget. Then, once the mildly playful conversation was over with, he’d move to her ear and whisper such delights that even Satan himself would blush. He’d described the both of them in almost every delightful way possible. He had a knack of pushing images, places, situations and explorations into her imagination. It was almost as if he had taken her thoughts, her insecurities, her delusions and illusions, and replaced them with absolute fantasies.

She’d initially found it all quite playful, almost innocent, until, all at once, she found that he really was inside of her mind. He ‘knew’ her or, should she say, had empathy for her life, her issues, her insecurities and everything she hid away in a small little coloured box within her mind. Needless to say, once her thoughts calmed, as well as a few glasses of wine, she found that she couldn’t keep her eyes off him.

Those eyes, his shoulders, all calling for her to make bad, awful, terrible decisions in the best possible way. At one point, on their return to the hotel, she could have just straddled him and taken him right there and then. He, instead, looked at her, almost reading her thoughts. Then, slow kisses. Deep. Smooching, even, as he pulled her close. The intoxication of desire, the need for him to press himself against her, blanking her mind as her lips felt the warm breath of her ever-increasing need.

She’d done what he’d asked, put on the mask, reducing one of her senses, as the others seemed to dance around her expectations. She knew, that he would tease, tempt and seduce before anything serious, just as he did when they’d played the colour game. He could be impulsive, immediate at times, but that was all part of the fun. The unexpected. Wondering when. Thinking of how. Feeling whatever he wished her to feel.

It felt freeing, all of this. An escape. A reprieve. The swan song before her normal life returned. She’d grown sick of relationship churning, the off and on again. The never or forever circular bullshit that she’d found herself within. Instead, she’d taken control, dialled the number and so far, not regretted one single second. Today, a walk along a seaside town, a lunch. Tomorrow, a train journey to some unknown location.

All at once, without even a hint, she could feel him somehow, right in front of her, as she felt his hands, one on each knee, slowly part her legs. She wanted to giggle slightly, her nerves showing through, but the excitement gripped her far too tightly to allow that. She’d done so much with her life and yet, the same meal presented in a different fashion meant more than people realised. He was interesting. He was polite and yet, through his beautifully coloured eyes, she could see the devil within him asking to be let loose.

His hands moved down her legs, as he removed her high heels. There would be no need for them in this scenario, as far as she knew. He’d complimented her, deftly, not obviously, many times and yet, she could bathe around him for days, weeks, hours or even just for a moment. He’d found something within her and, if she were being honest with herself, something that she didn’t even know existed. The expert, meeting the apprentice, both presenting stories and scars aplenty. Mental, physical, furthermore and more and more.

His hands moved up her legs, finding her waist, under her summer dress. As his hands found her lingerie, he softly kissed her neck as she moved her head ever so slightly, giving him more of a view. He’d stated that he liked a woman’s legs, neck, hair and, of course, the obvious permutations of her physique. The woman to a man. The natural order to the chaos that unfolded whenever the door closed, or when they were alone together.

The kisses deepened, as she lifted herself, freeing her lingerie as she felt it move down and away from her body. He lifted the back of her dress, as her rear returned to the bed and then, he found her lips with his, as she felt his warm exhalations against her cheek.

 She needed to be kissed. Not your average, kissing of kisses, but kisses that made her feel something. Anything. Not too much, but just enough, to know that there’s something there. His lips moved over hers, as they both calmly, slowly, felt the growing sensations. His hands, moving slowly up her back, running the tips of his fingers along her skin, simply drove her mind into swirling chemical cocktails of need.

After a day of flirting, teasing, hearing and imagining all the ways and things he would do to her, she’d literally reached the edge of insanity. She wasn’t permitted to lose control, unless he said she could. She wouldn’t act, unless he allowed it to take place. Calm, measured, designed, designated passion. It wasn’t lust, it wasn’t foreplay, it was desire, longing, slightly wanton, malevolent, restrictive control and she loved every single second.

His hands, finally giving in to temptation, found their way to the front of her dress. No bra, instant availability of her most praised assets, aiming to please. A fingertip upon each breast moved ever so slowly over her, expressing their need to induce a reaction, which immediately took place. She moved her mouth away from his, exhaling deeper, knowing that he knew that they would be extra sensitive. A mild weakness, exploited for their multiple satisfaction.

He pressed his lips to hers, harder this time, knowing that she was losing any grip of sanity left within the room. Heavy, thirst filled, knowing kisses, as the tips of his fingers continued teasing in the most perfect way possible. The pressure, the need, increasing to the point where she wanted to give away her calm.

He stopped kissing, as his hands removed themselves. If he could see her eyes, she’d look mildly confused, as her body continued to increase the pressure within. A few seconds escaped and then, finally, she felt him, pressing something against her, between her legs. The sides, soft, smooth, the top being some other texture. She smiled quickly, as her mouth opened to the growing sensation of feeling the movements below. Ever so gently, he pressed the cylindrical device against her, not too much, just enough, to be enough. Once again, his lips return to hers, as their tongues met between moments. Her hands moved back, steadying her, as the intensity began. She wanted him, would absolutely have him inside her at this very moment, but this was all part of the ongoing flutter. The game. The play. The expectations of lure and fallacy.

The kisses grew with intensity, as she stayed almost frozen, the need for concentration falling away to the feeling. Almost overwhelming. A few more seconds, maybe a minute, she no longer knew, as she grasped at the pleasure, not wishing for it to fade away. Frozen, the tingles, the confidence within assuring her of the outcome.

Over and over again, she could feel the pressure rise to its pinnacle, almost painfully expressive, the euphoria surrounding her as, a few more seconds, the burden and pleasure released itself.

All at once, her mind cleared, no thoughts, nothing, losing herself in the very moment. Her fingers grasped the bed, as her body stirred. She moved forward, wrapping herself around him, wanting to scratch, bite, envelop him as her body convulsed, almost paralyzed, as she felt the pulsing pleasure. Slowly, calmly, as the feeling declined, she kissed him, quickly, slowly, softly, whichever way she could, not quite knowing what she was doing.

She ripped off the mask, grabbing his jaw with his hand, looking into those eyes of his, as she moved her pelvis over him, not wanting the feeling to fade, but knowing that it would. He smiled, they both smiled, as he stood with his arms wrapped around her.

“I don’t think we’re quite done here just yet, do you?” he asked.

She shook her head, as she gave him the deepest kiss she could find, knowing what was about to take place the rest of the evening.